Wasteland
by Figure.10
Summary: Under a blood-red sky, in the ruins of old South Park, a group of rebels are fighting to stay alive. Rated M for strong violence and adult themes.
1. Proposition

Chapter One: Proposition

"Now Kenneh, I suppose you're wondering why I brought you here?"

The deeper, but somehow no more masculine voice of Eric Theodore Cartman echoed off the rich mahogany walls. The two armed guards forced a filthy, bleeding, 20-year-old Kenny McCormick into a red velvet upholstered chair in front of the Führer. Kenny was usually quick to speak, and it was a testament to his fear that his teeth stayed clenched.

"I have a proposition for you".

Kenny studied the large man's cold eyes with interest. Eric paused and stepped out from behind his desk.

"How would you like to become the second wealthiest man in South Park?"

Kenny could barely contain the smirk that flashed over his tanned face. Everyone knew the quiet mountain town of South Park, Colorado had been burned to the ground.. this place was only its ashes. He had barely registered the gist of the sentence until the Führer pulled a wad of bills out of his coat pocket and waved them teasingly at him.

"You could be my right hand man, Kenneh."

Kenny stiffened in his seat and looked with widened eyes at more money than he'd ever had in his whole life.

"All I ask is that you do me one little favour..."

Kenny sighed at the tone with which Eric had made this latest announcement and slumped forward in his chair. His chin was lifted harshly then, eyes meeting with the indignation-filled ones of the Führer.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, street trash!"

Eric released Kenny's bruised face quickly and stepped back.

"Now all you have to do is get me some information," he continued, the air of normalcy returning to his voice, "You become my informant, and all the money you ever wanted is yours."

"What kind of information do you want from me?", Kenny answered, his voice cracking as he ran a calloused fingertip over the bruise on his chin.

"Why, the kind only you can give me, of course."

The air was stiff with unspoken knowledge. Kenny knew by the inflection of Eric's tone, the way greed flashed brightly in his eyes, just what he wanted.

"You want to make a spy of me."

Eric raised his eyebrows a centimetre, giving his would-be charge a look of cool superiority.

"You're not as stupid as you look."

Kenny turned Fatass's proposition over in his mind. He could the Führer's top confidant, his right-hand man. Imagine, he told himself, never having to run again, never stealing to eat. Glimpses of power flashed in front of his eyes like projection slides. But at what price? Kenny's eyes flickered up to see Eric tapping his nails against a leather bound copy of Mein Kampf. A swell of a rage he didn't know he possessed filled his lungs. He had nearly forgotten about Kyle...and about Ike. His decision was made.

Slumping forward defiantly, Kenny sealed his fate.

"No."

The tremble of anger started in his hand, making its way up his arm and shaking the buttons of his lapel.

"Your betrayal disappoints but does not surprise me in the slightest, Kenneh."

Before he could so much as move his knee, the armed man guarding the door had Kenny's arms pinned behind his back.

"Get the fuck off me, formie!"

Eric chuckled and walked around his great mahogany desk to stand in front of his ironic captive. He pulled a silver plated syringe out of his breast pocket, Kenny's eyes dilated and his nostrils flared at the sight of it. He struggled helplessly against the grip of the guard.

"It was silly of me to _request_ your assistance, wasn't it?"

Eric removed the tip of the elegant device and grabbed hold of Kenny's arm. The blonde man bucked forward gnashed his teeth, leaving the Führer with his hand clenched around a piece of Kenny's filthy orange jacket. The fabric tore under Eric's grasp and the needle grazed the tan skin at an angle. With a grunt Kenny had one bruised arm free, and pushed his attacker into his mahogany desk.

Eric swore loudly in German, rubbing the spot on his expansive chest Kenny had struck with his palm. The struggle continued, and Kenny broke free of the weakened grasp of the guard, leaving Eric with the syringe in one hand and a piece of his sleeve in the other as his hollow footsteps echoed down the hallway.

All questions will be answered in subsequent chapters, except why I'm not a better writer. (Seriously, I wanted this to be epic, and I'm disappointed.)

Reviews and Critique = Love 3.


	2. Dry Fuse of The Power Keg

Chapter Two: Dry Fuse of The Power Keg

The sky was blood red over the ruins of Old South Park. Evening was setting in slowly, like a spreading infection. Streaks of grey smoke interspersed among the unnatural pigment. It was in this toxic air that Kenny trudged; through the gravel and sparse grass, past the murky waters of Stark's Pond, past the train tracks, past Phil Collins Hill. It was here, hidden behind the shadow of the hill, that Base stood.

A rickety building made of salvaged lumber, Base acted as a hideout for the seven boys who called it home, if anything made from partially burnt library timber and rusted sheet metal can be home to anyone. Kenny watched as the dark building filled his line of vision, the squelch of his footprints in the muddy patch behind the hill matching his heartbeats pat-for-pat. He looked down at his left arm. A piece of polyester orange jacket the size of a golf ball was torn out, leaving an exposed portion of tanned, scarred skin. Kenny pushed up his sleeve. That particular part of his re-con mission would have to be left unsaid.

As Kenny's eyes scanned the mud beneath his feet, searching for a plausible story to tell the others, a subtle creak made them arch upwards, meeting a lean shadow in the doorway, further lengthened by the setting sun. Kyle Broflovski, five foot eight and all lean muscle, was staring at him, expecting the answers Kenny knew he didn't have. The silent recognition of the mission's failure fell between them.

"What the hell happened out there?"

His disappointed and angry tone was too much for Kenny. His mind swam with a hundred lies before a dark haired man appeared at the door, looking dishevelled. His hair matted was with sweat over his forehead, his torso covered by a thin white T-shirt.

"Stan I.."

"It doesn't matter, come in, we're planning."

Kenny followed Kyle and Stan inside base. Base had been built as large as the shadow of Phil Collins hill would allow, or about 15 feet square. It was in the centre of this bedroom-sized home that all the boys now gathered, a large plank of wood over two buckets serving as their table. Kenny took his place beside Kyle, who was directly across from Stan. It was here that everything was planned. Here that tempers and emotions flared on a daily basis. Here that is was decided Kenny would go re-con. He sat there silently, running through the mission again in his head. He heard the whole thing spoken in Stan's voice just as he had been given it:

_At quarter sunset, make your way on foot to the capitol building._

_Stay on the RIGHT SIDE- conceal yourself whenever possible._

_You will hear two horns, this is the signal for the patrol._

_Tonight they are recruiting. _

_We aren't sure where exactly, but follow the sound of the horns, there will be a briefing room._

_Get inside at any cost, stay concealed._

_Return at first opportunity with any information you find._

Stay concealed. He had repeated this to himself with every step he took, and he still failed.

He could of gotten himself killed, and his friends discovered.

Kenny was awoken from his self-defeating internal monologue by a fist pounding angrily on the table.

"It's not _that _dangerous, just send him back- it matters fuck all if he dies anyhow!", Craig Tucker yelled to a mainly disagreeing audience. Only Clyde Donovan, brown eyes peeking out from shaggy brown bangs, seemed to share Craig's lack of compassion.

Stan called for order and a creaking silence fell over the table. A thin blond man with the wild green eyes of a psychopath cleared his throat.

"If it's OK with you, I'd like to hear just what happened to Kenny," a faint murmuring came over the group, "Specifically, how he got that hole in his jacket."

Kenny sighed and looked at Tweek. All eyes were on him now.

"All right, all right, so I was captured!"

A collective gasp and tensing overtook the group while Kenny continued with his tale.

"I started out at quarter sunset to the capitol, just as planned."

Kenny sank forward, resting on his elbows. He surveyed the scared faces of his friends, hung on his every word. He was the ring leader; the centre of attention, not just a guinea pig to be killed over and over thoughtlessly. Was it any wonder the idea of power was so intoxicating to him? Kenny McCormick could have had power, but he threw it away.

"And.."

Kenny's eyes snapped up from their focal point on the table, Token Black staring impatiently at him. Kenny swallowed hard and continued, more than a little intimidated by the large man of few words.

"I- I tried to stay hidden, tried to run for cover at any noise. I heard the horns. I saw a group of clones outside a door and ran for it. One of them saw me. I hit him on the head with the butt of my gun."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something strained into his hand. Kenny paused. He knew he shouldn't have drawn attention to himself like that. Still, he continued.

"Another one saw me...I tried to fight them off. I shot at least two of them. They captured me. I was blindfolded and lead by two formies into Fatass' office. "

Here he paused. The group was hanging on his every word, his past dire situation the only entertainment they had gotten in months now. Kenny cleared his throat, trying to think of a way to tell the truth without sounding like he had nearly betrayed his friends.

"Wha- did he fight you? Is that why your jacket's tore?", Clyde asked with the voice of an enthralled school child.

Kenny smiled. If he owned these men anything now, it was honesty.

"He wanted me to be a spy. To give him information about you guys. Fatass offered me a lot of money, and it was a little tempting..", Kenny's cheeks darkened at this admittance, but the faces around the makeshift table barely changed expression. "When I told him no, he got really angry and had the guards restrain me. He tried to give me Form', but I managed to fight him off. That's when he got a piece of my jacket."

Stan breathed heavily and all eyes turned to their leader, his peach shoulder twitching slightly as he made the observation Kenny had overlooked.

"If Fatass has got Formula 10 here in South Park, there must be new lab here."

The table erupted in arguments. As usual, Craig was the first one loud enough to cut through the chaos.

"Maybe he just had some shipped from Conifer for interrogations or something!"

Stan's sky blue eyes narrowed to Craig's electric ones. The two had, of course, always been at each other's throats, but ever since Eric Cartman had become The Fuhrer of Colorado and sent the boys into exile, the tension between them had become unbearable. The argument continued, as it always did, with Stan taking caution in the group's every move and Craig throwing it to the wind. The others watched them with mixed respect and boredom. It was no coincidence the two most strong-willed men were at odds. When they had all first banded together, Stan and Craig were the two candidates for leader. Craig never let Stan forget it.

"Hey Craig.."

The soft voice of Tweek Tweak cracked through Craig's tirade like a bullet through glass.

"If you're wrong..they're only clones, right? It's not like it's really your family or your friends, they're just clones. So-so who gives a fuck anyhow?"

Craig swallowed hard, eyes still boring into Stan's, before breaking contact and taking his place at the table next to Tweek.

There was another re-con mission to plan.

So is it less confusing now? Hehehehehe. Don't worry, this is all important stuff. The next chapter will be from Stan's point of view, and will come with a big heaping side of back-story. Thank you to all the people who alerted! I hope you stick around, and maybe review? ( ﾟ∀ﾟ)


	3. Liquid Thief

Chapter Three: Liquid Thief

The guys don't know I'm up here. It's dangerous, I know, to stand at the top of the hill and look out at the town. The strong, wise leader, the one who always has a plan. I should be asleep right now. Instead I'm watching the sunrise on Phil Collins hill. Sunrises are supposed to be beautiful. The sun rises in South Park now like pus breaking through a scab; trails of blood-red sky streaked across the horizon and slowly blending in to the constant bleakness. I never would have described a sunrise this way. Not if there was anything else with which to occupy my mind.

…

It's something I try not to think about. But it's impossible not too. To try to ignore the carnage and the ruins; pretend like everything's O.K. After a while, you can't pretend any more. You can't live in a war zone and wake up with a smile. This isn't how it was supposed to be, we all had so much potential. But now it can never be the same, we can't stop the past. Even if the past is all we have now. Not a day goes by I don't think about it; The story of how Eric Theodore Cartman rose to power, and how South Park changed forever.

It began three years ago, with a news report. Kenny, Kyle, me, and Cartman were at my house watching a movie. The purpose of this memory is so singular now, I don't even remember which one. My mom came in next and wanted to watch the news. I left with Kenny to get more chips from the kitchen, so the next part I only know from Kyle. He was sitting only about two feet from Cartman when a story came on about the high prices human organs were in China. Kyle told me there was a look in his eyes as they glazed over at the stock footage of transplant surgery, one he said he couldn't describe. Something like lust, like longing. Like greed.

For the next few weeks he made himself scarce. Like the naïve kids we were, we were all simply glad to be rid of him for a while. Looking back, we should have known. Cartman has always done horrible things, ever since we were kids. How stupid I was to think that there would be a stopping point, a limit, that no matter how bad he fucked up, someone or something would stand in his way. Now we're those people. It's like trying to break down an iron door.

Me and the guys had almost come to think Cartman was gone for good; that he had some new hobby or other, less 'lame' friends. Then another news report woke us up. Terrance Mephesto was being held captive in his genetic engineering laboratory. Nobody could stop him, nobody would dare to try. I still don't know exactly what Cartman was doing in there. I only know about the creation of Formula 10.

Formula 10 is a liquid thief. It steals your thoughts, your personality. Makes you do things you would never do. Formula 10 is a mind-control drug. I've seen it in action. I've seen what it can do to people; people who used to be my friends. It makes them formies, completely at Cartman's control. And it's running through so many veins, it's taken so many lives. The first one was my best friend's little brother.

I remember it in a blur, a whirl of sight and sound. Kyle running up to me, grabbing my shoulders; the look in his eyes when he told me Ike was missing. He told me a part of him died that day. Kyle is the most upstanding person I know, and that day, as those tears dripped down his face, some of his humanity went with them.

Ike's body was found two days later. I didn't want to go to the funeral. It was all too much for me, but Kyle needed me. All I could do was rub his back as he cried into my shoulder, whispering 'everything's going to be okay.'

Everything's going to be okay.

"Everything's going to be okay..."

"You tell yourself that every morning, too?"

I turn around to see Kyle looking at me, his gaze is steady and has the same quality it's had for three years now. Like his blood runs through my body.

Next chapter should be longer.

Review...for a cookie?


	4. Brotherhood

Chapter Four: Brotherhood

Stan gave his friend a small smile, "Anything to keep me going."

The air between them filled with silent tension. Stan and Kyle had always been so close, but there's nothing like a chemical holocaust to push two people apart. The sunrise burst behind Stan's dark head, the sky filling with early morning light. Kyle walked closer, putting his arm on Stan's shoulder.

"It's hard for you, isn't it?"

Stan stared into his best friend's violent green eyes, "I don't worry about myself any more."

"You should"

Stan's eyebrows furrowed, he stepped away from Kyle and exhaled.

"I'm only as fucked as the rest of the guys."

Kyle smirked, his pointed cheekbones cracking the dirt on his face, "Yeah, but you take it all to heart."

"What's that supposed to mean?", said Stan angrily, annoyed at the tone of Kyle's voice.

"It means you still have a conscious, you still feel," Kyle paused, averting his eyes and mumbling the next sentence, "You can't survive with feelings here, you know."

Stan's breath caught in his throat. He knew the others had scabbed over to the horrors they had witnessed. He knew thinking about the past only made the present hurt more; but to Stan Marsh, remembered humanity was better than no humanity at all. He had to cling to something, he had to be a leader.

"So", Stan said with the air of authority he faked so well, "We need to find that lab today, if there is one."

Kyle sat down cross-legged and looked up at him, like a student listening to his teacher. "It's really dangerous...we could be risking our lives-"

"We're risking our lives every day."

Stan sat down, the better to look at Kyle pleadingly.

"I mean, for nothing; if there's no Form being made in South Park, we should just stay here."

Stan rolled his eyes condescendingly,"Yeah", he said, "where it's safe."

Kyle opened his mouth to tell Stan that Base was the safest place in Colorado when he heard voices, many voices, from the other side of Phil Collins Hill. His neck snapped instinctively toward the sound, and Stan followed.

"Holy shit dude."

A troupe of blond men was advancing to the right of the hill, an army of the Führer's standard defence clones, oblivious to the rebel hideout they were fast approaching.

"Dude!"

Kyle was on his feet again before Stan could pull him back down, wondering between clenched teeth why they were so near the border; so far from the usual routes the boys had plotted painstakingly for months.

"What the hell are they doing here?", Kyle's voice had risen in pitch in his fear, he sounded like a child again, unprepared and afraid.

"I don't know.."

The border between South Park and the rest of Colorado wasn't usually patrolled. After all, Cartman had control of the whole state. Boarded off by physical barriers and those of shame, the situation in Colorado remained unreported in the media. Lives were at risk, people had been killed, but letting news of South Park cross overseas was a risk the U.S government couldn't afford to take. The nation would be open to attack once the knowledge was out. That South Park, Colorado had the technology to clone and control humans. They were prisoners from outside as well as in.

"We've got to warn the others."

Stan kept his words calm, a façade of the same fear Kyle was expressing through his jerky movements as he ran back down to base, obeying Stan's command the moment it left his lips.

Stan took one glance at the men before following Kyle. They all had white-blond hair and dark grey-brown uniforms. Cloned from the same, unknown man. Their bodies indistinguishable, their motives artificial and identical. The face of the enemy.

Kyle ran inside Base to find Clyde leaning against the door frame with half-closed eyes, clutching a stolen bottle of energy drink and wearing his jacket half falling off his shoulder.

"Clyde! Clones! Clones, Clyde!"

The man awoke with a start, spilling the remaining energy drink onto the cold ground beneath him.

"Wha- clones..here?"

Clyde tried to compose himself, wiping the hair out of his face before helping Kyle wake the others. Stan ran into the room just as he was trying to coax a shaking Tweek out from under a stolen blanket. The leader grabbed him and shoved a (again, stolen) sub-machine gun in his hands.

"I know you hate this. I hate this. We all hate this..except for Kenny who's a twisted motherfucker, but we have no choice, got that?"

Tweek gritted his teeth to restrain the sob coming up his throat. The blood stains on his black pants were just starting to scrape off, to disappear. For a few weeks, Tweek was sated that he would never have to kill again. The vast amounts of coffee he had consumed during his youth had left permanent effects on his brain. Tweek still felt things differently than the others. But of all his long caffeine-heightened emotions, fear remained the strongest.

The air was pumping with the smell of testosterone as the group of men ran out of their makeshift home like a swarm of army ants. Tweek stumbled along behind the others, clutching his gun and trying to block out the sounds of shouting from behind Phil Collins Hill. The measured sounds of heavy boots marching came closer and closer. The troupe hadn't yet seen base, didn't know they were about to find a rebel camp.

"Fire as soon as you see a weapon", the low but commanding voice of Stan Marsh ordered, "If you have a choice, go for anyone with any kind of communication device, if Fatass finds out we're here, we'll have more than this troupe on our doorstep."

The others nodded. Kenny smiled, eyes reflecting the polished metal of one of his two guns. In the final second before the air was filled with sound of gunfire, something almost like brotherhood came over the boys hidden behind the shadow of the hill. Almost like peace...

..But peace never lasts.

This chapter was supposed to be longer, but it just needed so much more work I split it up. Gah.


	5. Obligations of War

Chapter Five: Obligations of War

The troupe advanced as one, a wave of tan and blond crashing over the frozen earth. It was impossible to tell who fired the first shot. It only served as the starting pistol, in seconds two men lay wounded, possibly dying, and Stan, Kyle, Token, Clyde, Kenny, and Craig split up and ran into the throng.

Kenny was the first on foot and the most foolhardy, firing and kicking at anything in his way. His preferred style of combat was double, simultaneous shots to the forehead from each of his two sub-machine guns. The look in his eyes as he sprayed the brains of two nameless men over the ground was one of pure madness.

Tweek watched in horror while his friends fought. He knew he had to help, but his body wouldn't move from its position behind the hill. There was no plan. No strategy for victory. All Tweek knew was that all these clones had to be killed. If any of them contacted the Capitol, if fatass found out they were there, it was all over. The possibility of death now or the certainty of it later. What was once but a paranoid fear was playing like a film in front of his eyes. Tweek clutched the cold, foreign metal in his hands resolutely. There was no way out.

He screamed at the top of lungs and ran into the battlefield. Air whooshed by him like a vortex as stray bullets cracked the sky. The sound was deafening. Adrenaline pumped through him like pistons in an engine. Tweek locked on to a group of clones fighting Token and pulled the trigger.

He watched helplessly as he aimed, the spray of bullets bringing down three men before the group dispersed, and ran towards him in a torrent of blond spattered uniforms. Tweek felt the trigger under his finger again and pulled back hard, the gun shaking his entire body to the core. Five men lay dead.

Tweek looked up, nauseous from the smell of death and the sound of splitting flesh, to see Token, the fifth man's killer.

"Thanks."

Token gave a single, brisk nod and ran back into the chaos. Tweek heard a gun reload and took a shuddering breath. There was no time for fear, only action.

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Meanwhile, brave leader and wise strategist Stan Marsh was clutching his gun to his chest and shuffling his feet over the frost-cold ground, eyes wide in terror. He was surrounded. The white-blond men around him were yelling jeers, poking him with the barrels of their guns and delighting in his fear as he shifted back.

The voice of one man carried over the sounds of gunfire. "You really thought you could hide out here from us?"

Stan felt all the colour drain from his face, the piercing blue eyes starting to look sickeningly familiar.

The man grew angry at Stan's unresponsiveness, shoving the barrel of his gun into the hollow of Stan's neck. His face was inches away, leering, provoking. When he spoke it was through clenched teeth.

"You cocky little shit, you ca-"

Bang. Blood sprayed over Stan's face and body. Pieces of gore stuck in his hair. The other men ran. Stan looked up, shock widening his already fearful eyes.

"You're welcome", said Kenny, lowering his gun, "Just remember I won't be here to save your ass every time."

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

On the far side of the battlefield, splayed out behind the body of a fellow soldier, lied a blond man in a dark tan uniform. One of his trembling hands clutched his side, a bullet lodged between his ribs. The other held a radio, which he now spoke into with a strained voice.

"Mein..mien Führer.."

"General?", Came the mildly statical voice of Eric Cartman, "What is your location?"

The dying man took a painful breath and answered, the fluid that had pumped through his body in life, now coating the ground in an ever-growing pool beneath his torso, making him loyal to the end. "Rebel camp- east of capitol- one man- r-red hair..."

He took a final, weak breath, dying finally as he had lived. Loyal.


	6. Wertvolle Juden

Chapter Six: Wertvolle Juden

* * *

Heavy silence fell over the sparse ground. The red orange sun was still illuminating the gunmetal-grey sky streaked with blood-red clouds, the lifeless bodies on the earth. The stench of death, sweat, and gunfire permeated the air; mixed with the ever-present smell of burning to form a nauseous sensory cocktail of decay. This was the sweet smell of success. The scent of victory.

Behind Phil Collins hill, Base was filled with chatter. A fire had been lit in the cooking pit near the left side of the structure, and the flames illuminated the dirt-streaked faces of its occupants. The atmosphere inside the one-room shack was one of laughter and calmed adrenaline; the mentality of any winning team.

"You should have seen Kenny!", interrupted an excited, slightly bloody Clyde, gesturing to the blond man holding a rag to his arm, "He was fucking amazing, a fucking _machine_!"

Kenny smiled at the compliment. Death was what he knew best.

"Hey, pass me some more of whatever the hell I've been eating.", Craig called over to Kyle. He laughed lightly and tossed Craig the last stolen army ration; the last until the next barracks raid.

"Can I have a piece?", Tweek asked shyly. He was the only one who hadn't yet eaten. Craig nodded and Tweet grabbed for a chunk of beef-flavoured nutrition bar.

"Just imagine the look on fatass's face when he patrol doesn't come back!", said Craig, taking a bite of his food and throwing his black hair out of his eyes "He's gonna shit himself he'll be so angry!"

The men laughed at the thought, all except one.

"I think this time we got lucky."

Craig turned his electric gaze to the other dark haired boy in the corner.

"Some of us don't have to rely on luck to win fights, Stan."

Stan burst from his seat and grabbed his dissenter by the shirt, holding the taller, more muscled boy inches from his face.

"You think you're better than me?"

Cries of "Oh!" and "Cool it!" were muffled by Craig's loud growling.

"Of course not..when it comes to being a pussy, you're number one."

Kyle held Stan's arms before his punch could land, and Craig was quickly restrained by Tweek and Token.

"If not wanting my friends to die or become formies makes me a pussy, then I'm a huge one- I'd rather be a pussy than an arrogant asshole!"

The grips of Kyle, Token, and most of all Tweek strengthened as their captives fought against them.

"Stop it, Craig.", Tweek mumbled, "It's..it's not worth it...Stan's not the enemy here, he wants the same thing we all do."

Craig gritted his teeth and stopped struggling. "He's going to get us all killed."

"The clones will do it sooner."

Craig's nostrils flared as he turned around to the right side of the building. Stan glared at his back while he walked away.

"That guy worries me, Kyle", He said softly, head bowed, "He just won't listen to reason."

DDDDDDDDDDDD

From the imposing stone edifice of the Capitol the Führer looked down on what was once the peaceful mountain town of South Park, Colorado. Eric leaned back in his leather and mahogany chair, tapping his fingers together on top of his corpulent stomach. The news that an unknown rebel camp was found so near his capitol angered him, but his rage was partially offset by the news that clone#47SPB3 had given him just before he died. One of the rebels had red hair.

This, Eric thought, was a breakthrough. For almost two years now Kyle Broflovski had been the most wanted man in South Park. He had no idea just how special he was to the Führer; so special in fact, that specific instructions not to kill but only to capture citizens with red hair had been programmed into every batch of Formula 10. So special that when Kenny McCormick practically waltzed into his office, his life was spared for the sake of information about Kyle. There was no way in hell Eric Cartman was letting a clone have the pleasure of capturing Kyle Broflovski. That right belonged to him.

Now a plan had to be formed. There was probable cause to believe that he was still living in South Park. He would never be able to kill a whole troupe of border patrol soldiers by himself, Eric reasoned. Turning back to the large desk, he pulled a manilla folder from one of its many drawers. In it were the records of all former residents whose whereabouts were unknown. Only one man alive knew that this folder existed. Even the generals, privy to the most sensitive information, thought Kyle was the only man who had slipped through the cracks. The Führer opened the folder, carefully organized alphabetically by last name, flipping through its pages. The folder's pages were messy, constantly updated in his own scrawling hand

**Black, Token**

-Last seen: first draft

-Threat?: assume dangerous

-Priority: normal, n/a (untermensch)

-Notes:

**Broflovski, Kyle**

-Last seen: ? various sightings, none confirmed

-Threat?: assume dangerous, likely armed

-Priority: HIGH, n/a (Wertvolle Juden)

-Notes: Capture at any cost.

**Donovan, Clyde**

-Last seen: ?, one sighting

-Threat?: assume dangerous.

-Priority: normal, FIT SP

-Notes:

**Marsh, Stan**

-Last seen: ?

-Threat?: assume dangerous, likely armed

-Priority: high, FIT SP

-Notes: Almost certainly w/Kyle, possibly useful.

**McCormick, Kenny**

-Last seen:

-Threat?: confirmed armed.

-Priority: n/a, UNF SP

-Notes: Known to be living on streets, possibly useful.

**Stotch, "Butters"**

-Last seen: escaped after drug tests, sighting in South Park in June

-Threat?: assumed dead low

-Priority: low, UNF SP

-Notes: Possibly has unknown side-effects

**Testaburger, Wendy**

-Last seen: first draft, again stealing blankets in Fort Collins

-Threat?: low

-Priority: normal, n/a

-Notes:

**Tucker, Craig**

-Last seen: first draft w/Token

-Threat?: assume dangerous, likely armed

-Priority:normal, FIT SP

-Notes: hates Kyle+Stan, very sneaky.

**Tweak, Tweek**

-Last seen: ?, one sighting, unconfirmed.

-Threat?: unknown

-Priority: normal, FIT SP

-Notes: Very well hidden, definitely not alone/working alone if still alive.

The large man opened another drawer in his huge desk, this time pulling out a gilded pen, and held in poised over a sheet of his own impressive government letterhead. The spark in his dark eyes was one of cunning inventiveness. If Eric Cartman knew one thing about his arch enemy, it was this; he would do anything for a person in need.

The pen scratched out words in swooping formality, the look on it's owner's face growing more and more crazed, illuminated by the wrought-iron torches lining the wall. An official looking dispatch was taking shape, one that would, _somehow_, end up in the hands of Kyle Broflovski.

To clone #122SPSS (formerly known as Kenny McCormick):

You will proud to hear that your old body will, at 4:00p.m tomorrow, relieved of all fit organs for sale to China. I trust the clone I made from that body is serving his Führer with equal loyalty? Your last report was very useful, because of it five more rebels have been apprehended. As always, stay hidden and report any suspicious activity to me.

Eric finished off the letter with his large, bold signature. Soon Kyle would be in his possession.

DDDDDDDDDDDD

A few notes:

-_untermensch _means 'under race' (inferior race) in German.

_-Wertvolle Juden _means 'useful Jew' in German.

-China has no knowledge of where the organs they buy from Colorado really come from.

-REVIEWS=LIQUID SEXX


	7. Fatal Consequences of Loyalty

Chapter Seven- Fatal Consequences of Loyalty

Kyle groaned and rolled over under his blanket. Despite the cold, he woke up with sweat sticking his shirt to his chest. The ceiling looked the same as it ever was, and yet as Kyle looked up at the metal sheet above his head, he felt a sense of urgency he had learned to reserve only for battle. He stood up and stretched out his lean arms over his head. Kyle was used to being the first one awake. Kyle looked around the room at the sleeping men surrounding him. His eyes landed on his best friend. Kyle watched Stan's chest rise and fall calmly. He wondered what he was dreaming about. There was a placid, peaceful smile on his face. Kyle knelt down in front of him and brushed a shock of black hair out of his sleeping eyes. Where was Stan? Anywhere but South Park. Anywhere but here.

As Kyle pulled on his vinyl orange and polyester green jacket, he had no idea that a member of the Secret Service had visited Base the night before. The piece of paper the clone had left, tied up like a scroll with a red ribbon, lay in the weeds next to far right wall. As Kyle walked outside, warily as always, but more so today, and came around the side to get to the bucket of water the boys used to wash in the morning, he noticed a white scrap poking out from the weeds.

His bony fingers curled tentatively around the object, discovering it to be a piece of heavy letter paper. Kyle furrowed his brow as he inspected it more closely. Even through the thick paper, he could trace the outlines of scrawled words through the outside. The seal on the ribbon was that of the Führer. This message, whatever it was, had to be important. Possibly dangerous. Kyle knew information of this gravity could not be kept secret. The proper thing to do would be to show the letter to Stan, so the boys could meet and open it together.

But he had found it...and the gold wax seal was already peeling...

Kyle glanced around quickly to make sure he was alone. It was only him, standing bathed in the shadow of Phil Collins hill. His face twitched as he broke open the seal, the ribbon coming undone and spilling the paper into his hands.

_To clone #122SPSS (formerly known as Kenny McCormick):_

_You will proud to hear that your old body will, at 4:00p.m tomorrow, relieved of all fit organs for sale to China. I trust the clone I made from that body is serving his Führer with equal loyalty? Your last report was very useful, because of it five more rebels have been apprehended. As always, stay hidden and report any suspicious activity to me. _

Kyle's eyes widened with fear as he read the short message. The 'Kenny' he knew was a clone. The real Kenny was going to die. Today. At 4:00p.m. The usually rational and clear-thinking Kyle took a back seat to its terrified, protective counterpart. With nothing but the clothes on his back he ran. Towards the Factory. Towards Kenny.

The ground squelched and crunched under the pounding of his stolen, government-issue boots. Chill early-morning air tore at Kyle's lungs. His knees felt sure to buckle at any moment. The Factory soon loomed in front of him, red sunlight streaking down its steel walls. It was in this building, behind these cold metal walls, that captured citizens were cloned. Echoes of souls were created and controlled. Healthy young white men were used as soldiers, their original bodies supposedly kept to take more of their precious cells. But most clones, those of citizens deemed unfit, were used as organ farms. It was a final indignity, Kyle felt, that Kenny had been put in the latter category.

He grew closer and closer to the imposing steel doors. Slowing to catch his breath, Kyle inhaled the smell of the Factory and gagged and pounded on his chest. The unmistakable stench of rotting flesh made his eyes tear. It seemed that in this one building clones were both born and killed.

It seemed strange to him that there were no guards standing outside. In fact, when Kyle tried to pull open one of the heavy doors, he found it to be unlocked. A triangular shadow fell across his sharp features as the burning torch light from inside spilled out to illuminate his silhouette. The suspense, the weight of fear that hung over him, was growing stronger. Kyle suddenly became aware that he hadn't brought his gun.

"Kenny!"

His voice echoed off the walls and came back to him, sounding higher pitched and more fearful than he intended. Kyle took a tentative step into the room. The door creaked nearly shut behind him.

"Ken-"

Strong hands grasped at his arms and pulled him forward into the large front room.

"Get the fuck off me!"

Kyle struggled against the hold the two men had on his upper arms. He kicked madly at the empty air in front of him.

"Let me go, you formie assholes!"

"Hello, _Kahhl._" Eric drawled, stepping forward into the torch light and giving his captive a self-satisfied smile, "Looking for something?"

Kyle's nostrils flared. He scanned the room. The walls were high, dust-coloured metal, streaked eerily by the wrought iron torches bolted into them. In the middle of the room stood a marble statue, adorned with gold and black paint on its carved uniform. There were two Eric Cartman's staring enigmatically into Kyle's wide eyes. He pulled again against his captors' strong grasp and spoke.

"Where's Kenny? What the hell did you do to him?"

The Führer laughed. "What would I want with that worthless street urchin?"

Fear and realization rose in Kyle's throat. Kenny had never been cloned. The message in the red ribbon was a lie. He had been the target all along.

One of the clones holding Kyle's arms pulled tighter. "Would you like a syringe now, my Führer?"

"No", The man growled, never taking his eyes off his terrified and enraged captive, "I want the _real_ Kyle."

Kyle hyperventilated in fear. He was certain of what he was about to become. A shadow of himself, an echo...or maybe even simply a corpse. He was scared at his own acceptance of death, part of him longed for it now, had wanted it for months. Perhaps that was why Kyle had risked his own mortality to save a boy who had none. Perhaps it was an excuse to a darker motive.

Eric called out a number and a third clone emerged from a door at the right side of the room, carrying a coil of chains with links the size of Kyle's ears. He grabbed them and stepped closer to his prisoner, motioning to the men holding Kyle's arms. They released him into his grasp, and his arms were chained to the marble monument, every contact with the Führer's skin making him nauseas.

Eric ran a large finger over Kyle's jaw line. "Did you honestly think you could hide from me forever?"

Kyle jerked away from the finger and growled back."What are you going to do to me?"

The larger man brought his hand down swiftly over Kyle's face. "Shut up, Jew."

He watched with delight as Kyle struggled fruitlessly against the chains that bound him to the statue, trying to fight back. His skin, calloused by the life he had been forced to live, was bruising slowly against the rough chain links. His orange and green jacket, the zipper of which had broke long ago, hung open, revealing a torn and blood stained grey shirt stuck with sweat to his pounding chest. Kyle screamed for his release once more and Eric laughed. The last Jew in South Park unaccounted for was now in Eric Cartman's possession.

"I'm going to _destroy_ you, Kahl.", he threatened, grabbing the front of Kyle's shirt, "and I'm going to love _every second_ of it."

"Fine, kill me!", Kyle screamed, "I'd rather die than live in this wasteland!"

Eric chuckled silently. "You don't appreciate my improvements?", he cooed, "Don't you see the progress I've made in this town?"

Kyle spat at him defiantly and Eric grabbed him by the neck, choking him against the marble chest of the statue. "Don't you want to know about the last moments of your brother's life, Kyle? You want to hear how he cried for you to save him?"

Kyle shook with anger while Cartman spat his tirade into his face, unwanted tears percolating behind his eyes. Each time he struggled to inhale his windpipe seemed to collapse further. The chains on his already bruised arms were leaving thin red tracks with every movement. Kyle wanted to scream, to run, to fight, to gain control. Psychotic ebony eyes bored into his own, pupils reflecting a scared little boy that Kyle tried desperately to believe was a man.

"I needed a test subject for what will be remembered as the greatest medical advancement of the twenty- first century. He screamed when I stuck the needle in his arm. I pulled out a sample of his filthy kike cells and he cried when the blood ran down his arm. I kept him there in Mephesto's lab for a week, just to watch him die. At first he cried for food and water, he cried for you to save him. When he barely had the energy to breathe he just lay there and whispered your name. It only stopped when his body started to rot."

The Führer unclenched his large hand from Kyle's white neck. The breath he took seemed to tear through his lungs and burn in his nose, but he used it to speak one horse sentence.

"I hate you."

"No Kyle, you have idea what hate feels like. You'll never hate me as much as I hate you."

"You have no idea."

The restrained man bared his teeth and kicked madly at the air when Eric stepped around to the back of the statue, seemingly pacing. He unlocked the chains from around Kyle's wrists and held them like reins, pulling the heavy links over the head of statue and chipping the stone Führer's cheek. He pulled Kyle roughly to the concrete and held the chain at his hip.

"No, Kyle, _you_ have no idea", he slackened his grasp, letting Kyle fall forward onto the concrete, "_no_ _fucking_ _clue_."


	8. Shoot Me

Chapter Eight: Shoot Me

DDDDDDDDDDDD

Kyle fought against his heavy chains, desperate to at least punch the Führer square in the jaw before he died. It was inevitable, after all. But to die without vengeance, without at least a whisper of the power that had been stolen from him, was unbearable. He writhed there on the floor under Eric's boot, until the larger man pushed him flat on the floor.

The concrete graded against his his cheeks. He could feel his jaw nearly break. Pain rushed into Kyle's skull and seeped out his mouth, staining the floor. He tried to lift himself to no avail. The sounds of rustling and laughing echoing behind him. Kyle tried to move his knees, to at least lie on the floor instead of being face down on it.

"You'll stay still if you want to live.", Eric growled.

He stayed still. His breathing slowing slightly as he fought to maintain control over it. Kyle closed his eyes and waited for death. For the sound of a gunshot, the flick of a knife. Instead he felt large, cold hands wrap around his waist. The button of his dirty green pants was undone quickly, followed by the zipper. Kyle's mind spun and his body flinched involuntarily. He longed for a bullet now. A bullet to stop this hell.

"You think you're _special_, don't you?", Kyle's pants were pulled down, "You think you can _stop_ me?", his underwear went with it, "But most of all, you think you _hate me_!"

The sound of another zipper coming undone echoed around the metal-walled room. Kyle dug his fingernails into the cracks of the stone. A chorus of '_shoot me, shoot me, shoot me_' filled his brain. Rage and fear fought for dominance, the rage strengthened all the more by fear's lead. The captive felt something warm being pressed against his exposed backside. Rage was winning now.

"Get the fuck off me!"

Eric reacted swiftly by stomping Kyle's shoulder into the ground. His next words were forced through clenched teeth. "You don't hate me, Kyle...you think you know what true loathing feels like, but you never will." He leaned over the bleeding man on the floor, lifting him up by the hair. "_Let me show you_."

The Führer grabbed each side of Kyle's rear and thrust inside him with one push. He screamed. The pain was excruciating. It felt as though he were being ripped apart. His captor pulled out of him a few inches and paused, admiring the shaking, now bleeding man beneath him. He laughed and cried to the ceiling, as if to some non-existent god.

"This is hatred, you filthy faggot kike!"

He slammed inside again and Kyle grasped madly at the cold concrete floor. Pressure was being forced through him, the sensation of burning ripping through his stomach and being forced out of his mouth as he screamed. He could feel hot liquid running down his goose bumped thighs, the blood forming little rivers as it traversed through the hair. This was hatred. This was hell. Kyle bit down on his tongue, determined not to give fatass the further satisfaction of hearing him scream. His teeth broke through the chapped skin of his lips, and he felt a rush of more hot fluid flooding his mouth.

Kyle pushed his cheek against the ground and braced himself as the rape continued. His stomach was on fire. His legs were loosing their ability to as much as support half his own weight. Kyle could feel his skin slowly cracking and releasing more blood down his legs. The madman fucking him had a tight hold in his bruising hips. Pathetic tears streamed down his dirtied and bloodied face. Kyle found his head was getting fuzzy; the faces of the watching clone guards growing more and more blurred with every thrust.

'_shoot me shoot me shoot me_...'

Each minute seemed to last an eternity. When Eric finally finished, the salty release stung at Kyle's open wounds. It flooded the cuts and abrasions on his skin. He screamed until his voice and felt his fingernails crack on the cement as he clung to the last solid thing around him. Kyle dropped to the floor the moment he was left unsupported, exhausted and throbbing with pain. Crimson rivers flowed slowly down the crevices of rock underneath him. Kyle's body gave one last twitch before sweet, forgiving unconsciousness washed over him.

DDDDDDDDDD

Sometimes, dead is better.


	9. Red Flags at Half Mast

Chapter Nine- Red Flags at Half Mast

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Stan opened his eyes and rolled over. He blinked heavily and pushed the rough blanket off his chest. Morning was bright and warm, the smell of dirt and soggy wood, normally present in the small building, was overshadowed by an almost fresh scent of rain and snow. A smoky fire burned in the pit to Stan's left, its heat filling his skin with false sensations of relaxation. Tweek, Kenny, Craig, Token, and Clyde all sat around the fire. The chatter rose above the smoke in equally spiralling clouds.

Something was wrong. Stan sat up and looked around him. There was something missing. Something very important. Suddenly, the air seemed thinner somehow, as though all the oxygen had been released from it. There was a Kyle-shaped space left vacant. Stan spoke the fact that all the others seemed to have overlooked.

"Kyle is gone."

The boys seated around the small fire looked over at their leader. The other dark haired man cleared his throat. "I'm sure he's fine", Craig shifted to throw another piece of scrap wood into the fire, "Probably getting us some more goddamn food."

For a few seconds the topic seemed to be resolved. Kenny coughed. Clyde scratched his arm. Tweek shifted in his seat. Tension.

"He..he wouldn't leave this early", Stan told them. He found his voice cracking, almost in fear. Sometimes it seemed that Craig's wish of becoming the leader had been fulfilled. Stan didn't have the influence he once had. The other man gave him a patronizing stare, as if he didn't know his best friend's habits. Stan opened his mouth to speak again, when Token stole the words from his throat.

"I'm worried about him."

Base turned its collective stare to the man as he spoke.

"Kyle would tell us where he was going. I think he's in trouble."

Craig scoffed. "He can take care of himself."

Stan stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. There was something in those ice blue eyes. Something dangerous. Almost like apathy. When Stan spoke it was in a calm but stern voice, a chilling warning at what might happen if his opinion wasn't believed.

"What if he _can't_?"

Craig rolled his eyes. He was tired of Stan taking this so seriously. "Kyle is fine, let. it. go."

"What if he's dead?, Stan asked, taking a defensive pose, "Or what if he's in trouble and we could save him?"

Craig walked up to him. He stood inches from Stan's face and he lowered his head until their foreheads touched. Stan took a deep breath. He could feel the itchy, hair-covered skin scratch against his sweaty skin. He closed his eyes. More than anything, Stan wanted to be home. The home he knew. It was bad enough fighting clones, resisting the very real prospect of being made into an organ farm, killing people everyday. But as a drop of sweat traversed the canyon between their foreheads and sank into his skin, Stan knew he had a new enemy. It was a battle of wills, and neither of them were prepared to lose.

From somewhere off to the side, Tweek coughed. The tension broke almost instantly and Craig turned, slightly annoyed, toward the other man.

"Maybe he's right..."

Craig bowed his head. He turned around and sat down by the fire. Stan took a deep breath. Just like that, the confrontation was over. Funny how such simple words could end it. The leader looked over the men sitting around the fire and spoke. His voice was joyless, full of anticipation and worry. Any pretence of a calm demeanour was wiped clean.

"We leave at sunset for the train. I have a gut feeling we're going to find that lab sooner than we thought."

The room seem to nod together as one. There was no protest this time. Only silence.

"How many?", Clyde asked, avoiding Stan's gaze as the boy dealt him his unquestionable fate.

"I want to go...", Stan said, softly, as if to himself, "but I can't go alone."

There was a pause. None of the men wanted to show fear. Not in the face of the unknown, of wherever Kyle might be. Yet whoever answered Stan's veiled question was risking death much sooner than they were now. Finally a shuffling sound signalled that someone was getting to their feet. Craig reached out his arm to grab him, to pull him down, but Tweek stood up. His small frame seemed even paler in the morning light that broke through the rotted planks of wood Base was built of. He shivered from a mix of cold and the fear that always overcame him.

"I will."

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Kyle opened his eyes and attempted to pulled his arm over his chest for warmth. The sharp tug he was greeted with reminded him vividly of his situation. Chained to a statue in a room with sheet-metal walls and wrought iron torches. Kyle grimaced, noticing the tightness of his cheeks when he did so. The scrapes on his arms and legs were now partially scabbed-over, dried blood crusting off as they were rubbed against the rough links. His mind was fuzzy. The room was just as dark and foreboding as when he had entered it. It could be hours now. It could be days.

Kyle took a shuddering breath and sat up quickly. The feeling of dried blood underneath him and the sound of the chain dragging against the concrete floor, echoed off the metal walls, combined to make him nauseous. There was still no sign of life here, no sense of time. Kyle had no fear now, only anger. He had accepted death a long time ago.

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

The hollow sound of a silver pistol barrel being tapped against polished mahogany echoed through the room. The Führer was growing impatient. He tapped a button on the radio to his left, static filling the room. Eric growled. He had sent Border Patrol Three out at least an hour ago. The sky was darkening rapidly. He had to know if the rebels were on their way, if they had discovered the missing Jew. The Führer smiled to himself. It was the perfect plan. Like spiders in a web.

DDDDDDDDDD

"So will I." To Stan's surprise, and also suspicion, Craig stood now next to Tweek. "He was my friend, too."

Kenny bristed and got to his feet, shooting Craig a glare. "Don't fucking say '_was_'", he paused as the eyes in the room drifted to him. "Count me in too".

A small look of relief came over their leader's weary face. As brittle as the hierarchy was, Stan still commanded the authority required to instigate a search and rescue party. It was something, at least. The looks on the faces of the men around him were much less relieved. They knew what this was. A death sentence, a journey against all odds. The diminished and demoralized group of six boys against the Führer's entire clone army.

"If we're going to fight this battle...", Stan ventured, "we might as well try to win this war."

Token sat up straight. "You mean..."

"We take him down. The laboratory. The body farms. Everything."

Again realization and silence broke over Base, each man considering what Stan had proposed.

"We'll die.", Tweek said. Nobody argued. As much as they needed hope, all they could see was reality.

Kenny put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "But we'll die with Kyle."


	10. Burning Down

Chapter Ten: Burning Down

DDDDDDDDDDDDD

Sunset broke over Phil Collins hill, slowly sheathing Base in a blanket of shadow. Inside the rotting structure Stan keeled over the table, smoothing out a piece of burlap marked with coal. It was a strategy. The others watched silently as he told them what they were about to do. A drop of sweat ran down Clyde's brow. Tweek convulsed more that usual. Even the usually stoic Token seemed nervous.

"We break up into groups..", Stan looked around the table. There were only six of them now. Somehow, it still felt like an army. "..of two."

"Isn't that dangerous?", Craig argued, some of his resistance returned after the prior tense hours, "Shouldn't we just stay all together?"

"No, if one pair gets discovered, we need backup."

Craig half-rolled his eyes, but settled back on the dirt floor anyway, calloused hands clasped together in his lap.

"Each group will choose a train car to jump, preferably far away from others, but still on the same train. We all need to arrive at the capitol at the same time for this to work."

This time it was Tweek who spoke. His eyes were electrified with fear as he turned a watery gaze on Stan. "The..the capitol?"

Stan sighed. "That's where I think fatass would take him." He paused to think. Scenarios Stan hadn't before considered were now floating around his mind. Kyle might be at a body farm, any of the half a dozen all over South Park, being dissected by formies for profit. He might be injected with Formula 10, forgetting who he was and being at the complete control of Eric Cartman. Kyle could be cloned, his original body dying while his likeness went on to capture more innocent people, including those who were once his friends.

"_Come with me and you won't have to die.", a calm voice recited._

_Stan turned around quickly, alarmed by the man who had snuck up behind him so quietly. When he did so, a lean, tall figure met his eyes. A man wearing a tan uniform adorned with a swastika arm band. His sharp features were surrounded by a mass of curly red hair that he wore like a halo. Stan gasped at the sight and dropped his gun to the mud beneath him._

"_Kyle!"_

"_This is your last warning.", the man threatened, drawing his own gun and training it to Stan's chest._

"_No! Kyle, it's me!"_

_The red-haired man's expression was set in stone. His striking green eyes staring in to Stan's- emotionless, dead. The only hint of realization he expressed was a shaking of his arm, due no doubt to the gun's weight, though perhaps there was something inside him besides his muscles that didn't want to fire._

_Tears started forming at the corner of Stan's eyes. He wanted nothing more than to run to his long-lost friend and embrace him, welcome him back, but the eyes that looked now into his were cold. Lifeless. One long finger extended to rest on the trigger of the gun. _

"_Kyle..please..it's me, you're best friend", Stan's voice cracked._

_The green eyes narrowed, locking on to their target._

"_..It's Stan."_

_The arm muscles tensed._

_Stan ran forward, arms outstretched. He embraced him just as the bullet tore through his chest. Stan shook, but grabbed onto the man's jacket tighter. He could feel blood pour from his heart. He could feel himself dying. The man in the blood-drenched uniform didn't move, he simply stood with the same blank expression while his best friend cried his last tears on his shoulder._

"_Kyle...", Stan spoke, his voice was strained into a whisper as his breath and blood left him. "Welcome back."_

Stan opened his eyes. He became aware of the others staring at him as if he had gone mad. He swallowed hard and shivered in the chill air surrounding him. The room had never seemed so cold.

"Is everyone ready?", he asked, to break the silence. The other men nodded. "Alright, break off in to groups of two and follow me and...", he looked around the room for a potential partner. Kenny stepped forward and nodded silently. "Me and Kenny.", Stan continued.

DDDDDDDDDDDDD

Slowly the train came into view. A huge brown and black steam-powered beast, belching hot smoke into the freezing evening air. The group was ready, as ready as they would ever be. Kyle was out there somewhere. He was in danger. Stan led the way to a dip in the cracked brown earth. It was here they would wait to be carried off to the capitol building with the weekly supply of guns, ammunition, and supplies. Stan felt mud seep through the worn fabric of his old jeans when he crouched down with the others. The brown stains were still preferable to the red ones.

A horn sounded and Stan pushed Tweek away from him. The blond man had fallen forward against his shoulder. "Keep still.", he instructed.

Tweek shivered. Though age had done much to calm his jittery nerves, the Tweak boy was still prone to near-epileptic fits of twitches and spasms. The coffee he had consumed on a regular basis as a child had stunted his growth somewhat, which made his teenage years especially stressful, and even at 20 years old, he stood at just five feet five inches tall. It was his mental state and not his physical one, however, that kept Tweek feeling more like a child and less like a man.

Stan grabbed Kenny's shoulder and nodded at the others. They would take the first car. The train ground to a halt with the irksome sound of metal-on-metal. Voices could be heard as a group of white-blond men came clamouring out of the passenger car behind the engine and began pushing open the doors of the cargo sections. Token whispered something to Clyde and he shook his head. They would be gone soon, after the cargo from the nearby factory was loaded on. The men would only have a few seconds to make their move before the train disappeared; off to deliver the tools of war to the new clones, off to keep the machine turning. There was a sound of mud beneath boots, and Stan and Kenny took of running.

Tweek watched wide-eyed as Stan grabbed the metal handle on the side of the sliding train-car door and swung up inside it. Kenny followed, though not without banging his head on the wooden side. He listened only faintly to the heated whispers between Clyde and Craig. They seemed to be deciding who would go next. Tweek felt goosebumps form on his arms and calves. He hugged his arms to himself and closed his eyes; the world seemed to be spinning around him. When he looked up, the sight of Clyde and Token making a mad dash for the next car met his gaze. There was no way Tweek could do this.

"We're next", Craig's steady voice sounded, "the last car, that one there."

Tweek's violent green eyes widened in horror. He shifted his focus madly from the train car to Craig's large features, slightly distorted now by the blurriness that seemed to cover everything not in Tweek's immediate line of side. He opened his mouth almost involuntarily, feeling that with all the emotion swimming around in his head there must be something he needed to express. Some words that needed to be said. Before he could find them, or more likely, invent them, he was grabbed by the forearm and nearly flung out onto the frozen earth.

"Run!", Craig yelled at the tone of a whisper.

Tweek's legs obeyed before his mind did. He watched Craig up ahead of him with the same blurry fight-or-flight tunnel vision as he felt the air rush over his skin. It seemed to rip at the back of Tweek's throat. They were almost there. The steam was rising from the stack, the train just beginning to move as Craig grabbed Tweek's forearm yet again, pulling him along with him as he jumped head-long into the open door of the last train car.

DDDDDDDDDDDDD

Kenny breathed a sigh of satisfaction and relief, a grin plastered on his tan and slightly dirty face. Joyless yells echoed around them as steam belched from the metal belly of the train, the giant brown beast lurching forward now on the steel track. He propped his gun up in the corner.

"We made it.", Stan announced to no one in particular; possibly just to himself.

"Of course we did."

Stan let his lip curl up into a half-smile. Kenny's enthusiasm was refreshing. Yes, they had gotten on the train car, but now came finding Kyle, hopefully still alive and at the Capitol, and the actual taking down of the Reich. He watched Kenny lean his head back against the wooden side of the train car, bumping every so often with the roll of the land underneath. If Kenny McCormick, arguably the most doomed of all the boys, could rest at a time like this, then Stan didn't see why he couldn't either. He brushed a tuft of unkempt bang from his forehead and lied back, pulling his knees to his chest awkwardly.

"Gonna go to sleep?", Kenny questioned, looking over at the normally serious boy with a smile.

"Not 'till I see Kyle.", Stan answered.

DDDDDDDDDDDDD

Tweek's eyes widened. The smell of rotting wood and oily metal made his nostrils flare and constrict violently. He and Craig were now in a train car, stowed away secretly, bound for the Capitol. Fear like he'd never known was settling slowly on Tweek's mind; there was justification for every paranoid thought he could entertain. There was a high chance that he, Craig, and all the others would die. Kyle could already be dead. Tweek might see his body. He might watch as his friends were killed. The realization, only now fully sinking into his adrenaline-soaked brain, was overwhelming.

Craig sat a foot apart from his companion, his breathing measured but shallow. His arm twitched as he absent-mindedly palmed his gun, the muscle aching to shoot something. The dark-haired man cast a cold gaze over his companion. Tweek was practically vibrating with fear. Craig rolled his eyes.

Tweek continued to shake, the roaring of the train over the tracks provided the perfect backdrop to his obsessive fears. Each clack seemed to speak a word, a syllable of his thoughts. "_You will ne-ver find him...the clones will dis-cov-er you...this is the end" _Tweek made a small shrieking noise in the back of his throat. The metallic voice was all in his head, but it seemed so real.

He started at the heavy hand on his shoulder, looking up to see Craig staring at him, trying to silence him without speaking. Tweek closed his eyes, desperate not to make the larger man angry. They popped open again as more shouting from the formies at the front of the train startled him. Craig's grip on his shoulder tightened. There was no time to be scared right now. Any sound could get them caught.

The reason for Craig's force wasn't as obvious as Tweek imagined. The dark-haired man was scared, too. The physical manifestation of it sat shivering next to him. His attempts to calm Tweek were more for his own benefit. The blond made another high-pitched noise and Craig found himself digging his fingernails into the man's shoulder.

"Quiet!", he hissed, "do you want us to get found?"

The combination of Tweek's already pounding heart coupled with his friend's disappointment was too much for him. His wild green eyes clouded over, the last of his commitment to save face breaking under the pressure. Craig loosened his grip, a little surprised himself at the force he had been using on the Tweak boy. He watched in anger diluted with sympathy as Tweek began to cry, each jagged breath bringing more dangerous sounds into the quiet of the train car.

"Stop..", Craig whispered, a little softer this time, "calm down Tweek, they'll hear you."

Tweek hugged his arms around himself, desperate for some sense of safety in a situation that offered none. Craig removed his hand from the smaller man's shoulder, not really sure how to help him. Tweek continued to sob into his arms, holding his sides especially tight every time an unstifled sound made it past his lips. He shook violently, unable to quell the pent-up emotions he had been keeping inside of him. Craig set his gun down slowly beside him and moved his arms awkwardly around his friend. Tweek started, biting his tongue in the process and sending a fresh torrent of tears down his already reddened cheeks.

Craig's brow furrowed. Tweek's noises were getting louder. As much as he cared about the shaking man's well-being, he cared about his own survival more. He had to find some way to calm Tweek down; at least until the train arrived at the Capitol. There was nothing to smother him with...besides, the lack of oxygen would no doubt cause Tweek to flail around, creating an even greater disturbance. As much as he would like to, Craig couldn't tell him everything was fine and Kyle was going to be okay. Tweek was neurotic, not stupid. The truth was, there were no guarantees right now. The plan could backfire and get everyone killed. Or worse. For once, all Tweek's fears were justified.

"Hey..hey Tweek", Craig whispered in his sobbing friend's ear, "look, I know things are bad right now, but you seriously need to calm down."

The blond man curled himself tighter, his ears now covered in shaggy blond hair. This wasn't working. Craig had to act fast. His brain was spinning; he needed a plan and he needed one fast. What calmed _him_ down when shit got overwhelming? He could only think of one thing. Something he did at night when the rest of the men were asleep, or as asleep as anyone ever was at Base. Craig's eyes widened at the thought, but his repulsion was lessened by the severity of the situation.

He tapped Tweek's shoulder, eliciting a small shriek and a rapid movement of the man's body to look at him, terrified. Craig leaned down and pressed a finger to Tweek's lips. His next words were so quiet they were barely audible over the roaring of the train beneath them. "Why don't you try jacking off? I won't look." The blond's pupils dilated in horror and looked foggily at Craig with scepticism.

"Wh-what?"

At the risk of repeating himself, Craig took a deep breath and tried to make his point clearer, his tanned cheeks now flushed with embarrassment and lost pride. "If you masturbate, you'll feel better." Tweek responded with a louder shriek, and Craig clapped his hand over his mouth. His nerves, once calmed, were starting to fray. "You have to be quiet. If you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it." Tweek reached his arm over and clutched at Craig's navy T-shirt, shaking his halo of blond hair violently. He was embarrassed enough having Craig see him cry.

Realizing he was getting nowhere fast, Craig reached blindly for Tweek's pants, hoping to get the process started and over with as soon as possible. "Seriously", he hissed, "just do it and I won't look." Tweek twisted the portion of shirt he was holding back and forth. He tried to speak and Craig removed his other hand from his mouth. "It'll make a- a mess." This was followed by a sharp, involuntary breath that made a much louder sound that Tweek had intended, causing his to quickly replace Craig's hand with his own.

Craig gritted his teeth. That was another point, besides Tweek's fears, that he couldn't argue. There was no dirt here to soak up the fluids, or their unmistakable scent. Craig was used to being in charge, if only in brief periods with Stan, and having to do something so humiliating as what his brain told him was his only option was torturous. Still, Tweek needed to shut up, and if there was no logic that could do it, a more primal form of tension relief seemed to be the only cure.

Craig moved to face Tweek, both his hands now dangerously close to the fly of the other man's pants. He looked up briefly at his charge, unable to make eye contact. "Don't tell anyone about this. Ever." A very confused Tweek bit down on his fist and nodded sporadicly. The part of his mind that would have protested too soaked in adrenaline to do so.

As Craig unzipped his pants, however, one thought managed to escape Tweek's trembling lips. "Why are you doing this?"

With a smile uncharacteristic to his usually serious demeanour, Craig whispered "To keep you sane, I'd burn the whole world down."

DDDDDDDDDDDDD

This took waaayy too long. Sorry about that.


End file.
